The art of despair
by ouestmonesprit
Summary: Sebastian is an artist with a block, just a month before the biggest night of his career. He gets frustrated and anxious, and starts to use cigarettes as a way to release the stress. His life long best friend, Kurt, notices it and worries; one day he decides to make an offer, substituting cigarettes for kisses. But sometimes things don't end that easily. Writting for the GKM.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Before you start reading I think I should clear this out. Nuit Blanche means white night and is an huge art event. It happens in Paris once at year since 2002. Countless galleries, museums, city halls, and even swimming pools open their doors all night to visitors, with free entry showing all kinds of arts as painting, light installations, edgy performances, concerts, and unclassifiable happenings of all sorts.

This is also posted on my LiveJournal (ouestmonesprit . livejournal . com )

As always thanks so much to my friend and beta Flo.

Hope you like it, and don't forget let me know what you think (:

* * *

Three cigarettes gone by now. He searches for another one.

He places the cigarette in his mouth and draw his lips inwards slightly to hold it in place. He takes the lighter an inch away from the end bringing the flame almost to the tip and sucks on the cigarette in short bursts. As he removes it from his mouth, he inhales and allows the smoke to flow smoothly into his lungs. Finally relaxing himself.

He puts the lighter on the coffee table and reclines back onto the couch. Head leaning against the armrest, his limbs hanging off one side and his phone dropped on his chest. Sebastian has been there for the past two hours or so smoking his anxiety away and basically cursing the world, and their stupid ways of fate that conspire against him.

It was all because that damn sentence: 'Good news, Robert Hughes will be there.' He heard from his publicist while he was painting—or trying to. She was nice and had good intentions, but clearly stupid because in what world would that be good news? That was in no way something good. It was horribly nerve wrecking.

He checked out the second he heard the name; dropping the brush on the floor, incapable of continuing to work. He left the room the moment his publicist left, not even caring about the mess he had made, and plopped down on the couch. Smoking like a chimney, trying to calm down his hasty heartbeats.

A while later, Sebastian hears the front door fly open. He turns his head to the right to find Kurt staring at him with an annoyed look on his face.

"Why can't you smoke on the balcony?" He says, fully stepping into the apartment, carrying four big garment bags.

"Can't today," Sebastian huffed turning his head back to the ceiling. As if that would stop Kurt from grumble about the smoking. Fuck.

"I specifically told you I was going to bring home pieces of the new collection today. And I'd appreciated if they ended up not smelling like nicotine." He rushes away to his room carefully carrying the bags with what Sebastian supposes is the clothes with him.

"Not in the mood." Sebastian yells from across the room taking a small drag before shout again, "Want your clothes smell like fucking spring? Spray some of that women's perfume I know you have in bulk on them." He breathed the smoke out with a sigh and relaxes his head into the armrest.

Kurt comes out seconds later arms crossed against his chest, "What the hell happened to you?" He chuckles a bit, using his knee to nudge and Sebastian's leg on the couch so he could make room for him, "You were fine this morning."

"Robert Hughes happened to me." He says frustrated taking another drag.

"Who is— ?" Kurt asks, sitting down and placing his friend's legs on top of his lap. Face suddenly twisted into a sneer, "Please don't tell me he's some stranger you just had sex with that had no stamina whatsoever."

"Kurt," Sebastian sat up and brought his hands up to emphasize his questioning expression. "Do I look like I just got laid?" He stared at the brunette with an bewildering glance waiting for the obvious answer.

"Well if he was a Cum Quick you technically wouldn't have," Kurt teases and then sighs, running a hand over Sebastian's leg, "Okay, who's the guy who has got your panties in a bunch?"

Sebastian lift the cigarette to his lips and draws a huge amount of smoke down his lungs before replying. "Robert Hughes is probably the best and most fucking known art critic of our generation and he is going to be in at Nuit Blanche this year. And he is really interested in what's in my showroom."

"Seb, that's—" Kurt starts with a grin.

"Don't you dare to be as stupid as Emmy and tell me it's a good thing," he cuts him off leaning suspiciously close to Kurt's face and letting out the smoke in his personal space.

"It's not?" Kurt asks shaking his hands dissipating the contaminated air away from his clothes, his face contorted into a grimace.

"The fuck it's not" He growled coming back to his past position, "He is an art blogger. He is the most influential guy in the whole art world… and he is going to criticize my work; my work which, by the way, is not even close to finished. Everything has to be perfect."

"But you know it's—"

"No, just— can you please not talk about this? I already listened to my publicist talk for over an hour about the damn guy and how much it's such a 'once-in-a-lifetime-opportunity' and frankly, I'm not in the mood to hear more."

Kurt raises a hand in surrender and smiles, "Okay, okay, you're stressed. So, no dinner tonight?"

"That depends." Sebastian replies, letting out a small cough, "Do I have to cook?"

"Wouldn't dream of it."

Thankfully, dinner had no mention of Robert Hughes or the Nuit Blanche. Sebastian is grateful that Kurt is smart enough to just leave the subject alone and talk about other things. He stays silent throughout most of the meal, listening to Kurt's anecdote about the latest photoshoot and two Russian models Kurt was responsible for dressing.

"…I was looking for them everywhere because Maria needed them in hair and makeup and just when she was about to throw a curling iron at me, I found them making out behind a curtain." He brought up another forkful of pasta to his mouth.

Sebastian took a sip of his wine, "So what'd they do? Did they scream? Flip you the finger?"

Kurt swallowed and dabbed at the corner of his mouth with a linen cloth, "No, they asked if I wanted to join." Sebastian laughed at that.

"Do you think I can get their numbers?" he jokes, earning him Kurt's napkin thrown at his face. But Kurt's smiling.

The rest of dinner is easy. The rest of the night is easy. Their friendship is easy. Easier than any other relationship Sebastian has ever had.

After the credits roll on their TV, Kurt retires to his room claiming to be tired. Sebastian spends another half hour smoking on the balcony before goes to sleep as well.

He gets to his room without turning on the lights. He likes it better dark; his surroundings peaceful and quiet. The room has a huge window that allows the soft moonlight glow above his bed. It's calming, and he need this after a dreadfully stressing day.

He strips and leaves his clothes in a pile on the floor before climbing into bed, drawing up the covers. Sebastian reaches over to his nightstand where his iPod is docked and selects his nighttime playlist.

As soft notes starts to play, Sebastian drops his head onto the pillows, staring at the ceiling and the beautiful shadows of the night there. He may use it as an inspiration for his art work, because as it seems like he isn't going to have another anytime soon.

It sucks, having only a month before the biggest night of his career to have an artist's block. How he supposed to get through this? It's the Nuit Blanche. This is suppose to be his best work; his amazing, breathtaking work. But instead he has two and a half finished pieces and a blank imagination.

And it sucks, because Robert fucking Hughes is going to be there, ready to nitpick every piece in the gallery. The guy had never being able to fully like any work before. Something in the back of Sebastian's mind is telling him Robert Hughes will probably kick him out of the art world forever when he sees his paintings. Ending his career when it's just starting to take off.

He breathes out, still watching the shadows. Why can't he do this? He has been painting his whole life, and now everything is drawn a blank.

The song turns to another one increasing the tempo. It was still somehow calming but not calm enough. He stands up hastily in the dark room, fidgety.

He is not going to sleep tonight, not with a thousand things going through his mind.

Sebastian puts his clothes back on and storms out. He walks down the hall to his art room, maybe tonight he could be able to do something. Whatever, maybe just two lines to start. Just to get some progress.

He thinks about it twice, before diving in. He could have, the best working night of his life or the most frustrating.

He turns on the lights and carefully steps in avoiding tripping over the stained tarps. The room has a big old chandelier hanging down, giving a sophisticated atmosphere to the place. This is his safe haven. The place Sebastian spends most of his time. The place he gets lost in himself.

The room is filled with his earlier works; some from when he was a child to when he started high school and stopped, thinking becoming an artist was crazy. He smiles softly and runs a finger through some oil paint on the table. He had once dreamed of this. Of this perfect, quiet sanctuary where no matter how bad things were, or how fucked up his world was, he could escape to. Just give him a brush and some music and he'll paint all the angst away. He doesn't want this room to go to waste. Now that he has it, he's not going to ruin everything just because of his nerves.

He takes a quick look of the unfinished painting leaning against the wall. Sebastian shakes his head, he's not going to finish it tonight. Not with this mood.

Who the hell is he kidding? He is not going to do anything tonight.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck this whole thing. He curses alone to the blank canvases.

Sebastian takes a cigarette from his pocket and places it between his lips before lighting it up. He inhales deeply and tilts his head back sighing out the smoke.

Definitely a frustrating night.

Two or five hours later, he doesn't even bother at how much time has passed, nothing much has changed. Sebastian still has the same two paintings in front of him, mocking him. He takes a long drag from his cigarette and slides two fingers along the edges of one of the canvases.

It's almost six o' clock in the morning, he notes looking at the clock nailed to an easel, and the room is illuminated by the soft glow of the beginning sunrise. He had spent the whole night there, staring, waiting for something to appear. But alas, nothing. This whole situation surpassed frustrating twenty minutes into the night; it was from then on exasperating.

Never in his life has he ever not known what to do. Even with sex, he had done some shameless research to make sure he knew what he was doing his first time. He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. Fuck.

Yesterday he took one of the canvases and swore to himself he was going to finish the damn piece that night—two hours later and it was the exact same fucking thing besides two new red lines that were painted on as an experimental addition. It was progress, though. Shitty progress, but still progress.

Twenty-seven days. Twenty-fucking-seven days and only two unfinished paintings.

"FUCK!" Sebastian exploded. "What the hell was I thinking?" He flailed around, groaning in frustration. It seemed childish, but maybe being childish is what he needed. He threw the paintbrush he kept wedged behind his hear across the room, wincing a bit as it hit a vase with a clang. "Fuck this shit, I'm going to law school."

"Don't lie to yourself, babe." Sebastian turned around. "I think I've heard you say that at least ten times in the past few years and not once did you go throw with it." Kurt put a hand on his hip, his slender body leaning against the door frame. His voice was still croaky and deep from sleep and his hair was sticking up at the back.

Morning Kurt was Sebastian's favourite Kurt. It was when he was the most easily agitated and vulnerable. Mornings made Kurt seem more common though he constantly thrived to be different. It made Kurt not lesser, but the same. Equal.

Sebastian slumped into the cloth-covered armchair in the corner, "I will this time. And you'll have to take care of me when I'm too stressed to do shit." He stubbed out the last of his cigarette into the ashtray.

Kurt snorted, "I do that already." He crossed the room and sat down on the armrest, carding his hand through Sebastian's hair the way he knew he liked when he just needed it. "And I know you too well to know that you won't go through with it."

The other boy sighed and leaned forward to prop his elbows on his knees and bury his face in his hands. "Some days I just want to forget about everything, curl up in bed and sleep," he shakes his head. 'Or maybe I just need to get laid."

He heard his best friend laugh and felt a hand rub circles onto his back. "And here I thought you were turning into a profound, sentimental wuss." Kurt stood up and Sebastian couldn't help but whine a bit when his hand disappeared. "C'mon, I'll make you breakfast."

Sebastian followed and was startled when Kurt stopped in front of the doorway and turned. He scrunched his nose up, "You know this place smells now right?"

"Cigarettes: l'arôme d'un artiste," he says.

"The smell of an addict," Kurt corrects.

Sebastian gestured to the cluttered work room, "This is the small of my sanity deteriorating." Kurt couldn't help but snigger and walked out of the room, Sebastian trailing behind.

"Sebastian, just calm the fuck down," Kurt said washing his hands in the kitchen sink. "You are going to be okay."

"Oh really?" Sebastian asked, "Do you know I only have twenty-seven days left before the biggest night of my fucking career and I don't have one finished piece for my portion of the gallery? I'm fucked. Done. Poof. This is the end."

Kurt took a bowl out of the cupboard and scavenged around for cooking utensils, "You're being melodramatic—and that's coming from me. I miss the Sebby who didn't give a fuck about what anyone else said about his art, whether it was a critic or a random guy on the street, because he was the genius that landed a spot in the Nuit Blanche."

"Fuck you," he huffed from his spot on the counter. Sebastian hated it when Kurt was right. "And don't call me Sebby."

"No thanks, I'll pass, but I have those models' contact information if you still want that," Kurt grinned, "Sebby."

Sebastian crossed his arms in front of him and put his head down, slipping his eyes closed for a bit while he heard the sounds of Kurt making breakfast. He didn't know he dozed off until Kurt slid a plate in front of him, the inviting scent of French toast beaming up at him.

"Here," Sebastian raised his head as Kurt handed him a cup of tea.

"I don't get coffee?" he asked raising an eyebrow.

"Not today," Kurt took a sip of his own tea and set to eat. "You're going to eat and then go to bed."

"When did you become Maman?" Sebastian smirked, taking a tentative sip. He felt the warmth wash over him from his head to his toes. It wasn't coffee, but it was comforting.

"If you're going to throw tantrums and throw things that I have to eventually clean up and cook for you, I have every right to order you around."

He narrows his eyes at Kurt and starts to eat his breakfast, his thoughts starting to haze over again. Sooner or later he's going to have to face the truth: he's not ready for the kind of exposure and fame that comes from the gallery and he sure won't be able to finish it in twenty-seven days. It's all driving him nuts and he has no idea what he's going to say about the lack of work.

Kurt seemed to have read his mind, "You know you're going to be okay, right?"

"I should tell Emmy I can't do it. It'll be a bitch, but she can probably pull me out."

"No, you're not. Bas, everyone has blocks. I get them too—it's normal." Kurt wiped the corner of his mouth, "Did you know DaVinci only did 32 paintings in his whole life? I'm sure he had his fair share of artist blocks."

"Yeah, but DaVinci was also a scientist/philosopher/inventor. I'm not ready."

Kurt shrugged, "You're never going to be. But that shouldn't stop you."


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: First thanks so much for all the follows and favorites! You really made me smile :) and sorry for the waiting! vacation's problems, but I promise it won't be this much for the next part!

Oh and I changed the title, (smoking love) I wasn't fully happy with it.

Hope you like this part and as always thanks so much to my beta and friend Flo, who is back from Taiwan!

And I like to know what you think so don't forget to comment :)

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Sebastian lay sprawled out on top of his bed, eyes straining open in the dark. He's slept the whole day after another night of frustration over lack of inspiration, per the new usual. Lately he's not getting more than a white canvas he's tempted to set on fire with the faint burning sensation in his lungs after five cigarettes in a row.

Only twenty-four days before the Nuit Blanche and the only thing Blanche so far is his gallery. Where the fuck is that never-failing imagination? Painting used to be so easy for him, Sebastian should at least be able to set a pen to paper and sketch something out. He's fucked.

He brings up a hand to scrub over his face and rolls over to check the hour on his bedside clock. Almost nine o'clock at night. He huffed and lays his head back onto the pillows again. Fuck. He has to do something.

Sebastian slides off the bed and shudders a bit from the breeze flowing through his window. He slips on a pair of discarded sweatpants from the ground and walks out of his room. The entire apartment is infused by smells of herbs and spices being added to sautéed vegetables and lean meats in a skillet. Kurt's been busy. Which means Sebastian should be busy.

He pushes the door to the kitchen open where the scent of the food hits him hard. Kurt is leaning over the stove, spatula in hand and humming and moving his hips along to whatever song is playing softly in the background. Kurt's back was to Sebastian so he was a little confused when the taller boy pressed pause on the small remote that rested on the marble countertop.

"You know, if you were my boyfriend I could easily kiss you and we'd have one heck of a romantic movie scene," Sebastian smirked as Kurt tuned around spatula raised to strike.

"And if you were my boyfriend I could easily slap your face," he said grimacing as Sebastian took out a cigarette and lighter from his pocket. "Do you know how long it took me to rid our lovely home of your horrendous burning scent?"

"Well you did a wonderful job, Maman, the whole apartment smells great," he said, putting them back into his pants.

"If I was your moth—" Kurt starts turning back to the pans.

"Please don't start talking about what you'd do if you were my mother. I know you'd love to be her, but that's too much passion for perfection even for you. I'm tired, so please leave a message after the beep. Beep." He moves to sit on one of the stools they have set up around the island. Sebastian raises his hands to knead his temples and yawns.

Kurt laughs watching his roommate with his mouth open, aiming a cherry tomato at it but drops it back into the pan. It's clear Sebastian is still not completely conscious and it's times like these that Kurt likes teasing him.

"Well then let me start talking about how weird the word 'boyfriend' sounds coming from your mouth," he says smiling as he slides the vegetables onto two plates, doing the same with the meat.

'Boyfriend." Sebastian says face buried in his hands, "And I am fully capable of being a boyfriend."

"Now that just doesn't sound right," Kurt places a plate in front of Sebastian and takes one of his hands to place a fork in his palm.

"I've had one or two before," he argues. "And it was great."

"Which one: the one who you 'dated' for two weeks or the one you couldn't even remember the last name of? And just to make it clear for your poor little tired head 'dated' is a euphemism for 'fucked'." Kurt sets a place for himself next to Sebastian.

Sebastian stabs a few bell peppers and puts them in his mouth, "Last names are not that important when you're fucking into someone." He swallows before adding in a mocking tone, "And I'm sorry if my libido offends your view of having that fairy princess tale ending, Bottom."

Kurt shoves at him that the half-asleep Sebastian nearly falls off the stool, just catching himself in time. Sebastian calls Kurt a bitch and Kurt laughs it off, telling Sebastian he should watch his language.

After the dishes are washed, Sebastian goes out to the balcony and takes out the lighter and another cigarette. The deck isn't as big as the one at his parents' but it's still big enough for two chairs and a small table, facing the city. The neighbourhood they live in constantly has sounds of traffic below, even at night, but the view is so worth it.

He sits with his sketchbook and lights the cigarette, taking a rather long drag. Sebastian admires the city lights and skyline, even apparent at night. He sets the cigarette down and trades it for a piece of charcoal, hoping the twinkling lights might start something. He starts out with a few lines—the small building at the corner of the street, then the string of mopeds parked in front of a cafe.

He likes just drawing. When he's drawing like this, he's just drawing for himself, not for anyone else. It's what made him love art in the first place. Art to him is lenient; not every piece is the same and not every emotion poured into it or emitted from it are the same. The way he sees it: the way art is interpreted is by the viewer.

Another stroke for the roof and a few smudging and then retracing of the detailed iron balcony rails. The building's not new, it wouldn't have been more than a hundred years old and Sebastian has sketched it far too many times. It's his go-to building. Something he's familiar with. Comfortable with.

Another cigarette is gone, and Sebastian picks another one from the pack without thinking about it. What is on the paper now is black and white, simple, beautiful, and unfinished.

"So no more blocks?"

Sebastian shifts in his chair at the voice, too deep in his work to remember he lived with Kurt. He took his usual seat next to the artist.

"I guess you're not applying for law school then," Kurt smiles as he plucks the sketchbook from his hands settling on the other patio chair.

"Don't get too excited, this is just something I do all the time. Block's not gone; I just need to do something before I have a meltdown." He takes another drag and Kurt scrunches his nose.

"You're actually going to deal with it by burning your lungs?"

"Maybe," Sebastian says blowing a string of smoke. He's getting a little tired of how much Kurt mentions his cigarettes and how much he hates them. It's a little endearing, but tiring. He stubs out the one he has now and automatically goes for the pack, Kurt's hand stopping him.

"Really? You're not even done with that other one," Kurt squeezes where he has a grip around Sebastian's wrist.

"Fuck Kurt, not again with this," Sebastian huffed, pulling his arm away.

"Yes, again with this." Great. Just fucking fantastic. Sebastian let out the dragon.

"Kurt, I've been smoking since we were 15, why are you suddenly so worried?" He groans as Kurt pockets the pack and reaches back for the sketchbook.

"Because you're suddenly smoking more than a train. And I should know smoking doesn't help with stress."

"Okay, first of all: you've only smoked once. It was with me and you didn't even finish half of it before you threw it on the ground and started coughing. And second of all: it does help the nerves."

This sets Kurt on a tirade. He starts lecturing the boy about the dangers of smoking and even though it looks cool, can serious damage to your body and clothes. Oh, Christ the clothes. Kurt goes on about how easily the smell latches onto fabric and reminds Sebastian of that one time he burnt a hole in his Armani suit.

"And maybe we could fuck later if you're up to it."

Sebastian looked up at Kurt, "What?"

Kurt clicked his tongue, "Sure, now you listen to me." It was true: up until then, Sebastian was sketching away at the notebook, scratching in charcoaled lines of the Eiffel Tower from his memory.

"Sorry if I find eight years of you lecturing about me smoking tediously boring."

"This time was different, idiot. I said you should try other de-stressing methods instead of smoking," he said giving him a small smile. Ugh, now he had to do things. That smile is probably the most annoying part of their relationship. The way Kurt just gives that small smile and tells Sebastian to try, which of course in Kurt-language means that Sebastian has to do.

Sebastian eyes Kurt cautiously, "This doesn't sound good."

His friend ignores him, still smiling, "What if you take a shower every time you feel like smoking? That's calming."

"Or I can take a bubblebath," Sebastian says too enthusiastically, obviously being sarcastic. "You can lend me some of your bathsalts, and maybe a loofah. And I'll shave my legs while I'm at it too. Please tell me you have strawberry scented shaving cream." He gives Kurt a pointed look, "Really? Is showering the only thing you could think of?"

"Well you need one," Kurt said scrunching his nose up. "You smell homeless, Bas. Homeless." He sighed, "What about sex? That always helps."

"Effort," he replied shaking his head, "Chatting people up is too tiring."

Kurt laughed, "I can't believe Sebastian Smythe is refusing to have sex because it's too much effort. Maybe you should just rely on your hand."

"Whenever I flirt with people, I normally have a cigarette between my fingers. So your logic is flawed," he argued.

The slender boy scoffs and throws his head back to look at the dark sky above, "You're impossible."

"And yet you're still here," Sebastian's eyes lingered down to the faint outline of his cigarette pack behind the taught fabric of Kurt's jeans. He nudges at Kurt's knee with his foot. "Can I have my cigarettes back now?" he asks, sounding like a child who wanted his favourite toy after being put in a corner.

Kurt doesn't say anything but reaches into his pocket to retrieve the carton. They sit there in silence, watching as Kurt turns the box over in his hand a few times. His eyes flicker up to Kurt's face, where green met blue. Shit.

Sebastian lunges forward just as Kurt hops up from his seat, running back into the apartment. "Kurt!" he yells chasing after him.

"Nope!" Sebastian hears from somewhere inside. He grips the back of the couch, frustrated.

"Kurt this is childish!"

"Says you," Kurt says coming back from wherever he just was; the pack of cigarettes nowhere in sight. He distances himself from Sebastian, standing on the other end of the couch.

Sebastian holds out his hand expectantly, "Where is it?"

"Where's what?" he asks innocently.

"Queen Elizabeth's crown jewels."

"Probably in England."

"Kurt."

"Sebastian."

"You know what I'm talking about."

"The Queen's crown jewels?" Kurt cocks his head as if confused.

Sebastian runs a hand over his face, "Kurt, I swear to God—where the fuck are my cigarettes?"

"Somewhere."

He's lost his patience by then. Sebastian starts toward Kurt, making the other boy step back. He backs Kurt up to the wall, and leans in close, using his arms to bracket him in and making sure Kurt can smell the nicotine that lingers on his breath. "Kurtie. I'm asking nicely now: please tell me where my cigarettes are," Sebastian actually batted his eyelashes for effect.

Kurt remained stiff feeling crowded under Sebastian, but he kept with playing innocent. "But Sebby," fuck, Kurt actually jutted his bottom lip out, "smoking causes cancer."

Sebastian sighed, "Kurtie, I'm just asking for them back."

Kurt sucked his lip back in and glared at Sebastian, "No."

He glared back, "Kurt."

"No."

"Kurt."

"Smoking isn't going to get your paintings done in time for the Nuit Blanche. They aren't going to give you any inspiration unless you're hoping to design the newest pack of Marlboros. Did you know by law, they put warnings and list the dangers of smoking? Even the companies know what they're doing to you."

"Do you think I don't know what smoking does to me?"

"Well since you keep doing it, I think you need the constant reminder."

Sebastian throws his head back and groans and before Kurt can go on lecturing him again, Sebastian swoops down to press his lips hard against his to shut him up. Kurt let out a small yelp as he felt Kurt freeze under him before relaxing and craning his neck forward to kiss Sebastian back.

He cups Kurt's face with one of his hands, still using the other to brace them against the wall and moves to angle their heads better, lips slotting together perfectly. He slips his eyes closed as Kurt sucks at his lower lip, receiving a low groan from the boy.

Sebastian opens his mouth on reflex to let Kurt slide his tongue in and ran it across his pallet, along the back of his teeth. The kiss became messier, wetter; full of tantalizing swipes of the tongue, trying to familiarize themselves with each other's mouths. It was all new territory to Sebastian.

That's when he froze, eyes flying open and body pulling back. He found Kurt's eyes had closed as well, leaning towards Sebastian a little. When Kurt opened his eyes, they widened at once. They stared at each other for God knows how long, just trying to assess what they had just done.

Over twenty years they have known each other; growing up as playmates, classmates and now roommates. The Hummels were always family to the Smythes. Their mothers were best friends after all—it was inevitable for the two to become this close. Fuck, Kurt and Sebastian even had the same birthday, weird enough.

What the hell was Sebastian thinking when he kissed Kurt?


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: I left some notes at the end, please read :)

* * *

_Something's not right,_ Sebastian thought as he stuck his head out of his doorway the next morning. The apartment was way too quiet. There was the absence of the tap being turned off and on, shuffling of feet and breakfast being made. No, today was dead silence.

Sebastian stepped into the kitchen, hoping for Kurt to leap out from behind the door in attempt to scare him. But alas, Kurt was nowhere to be seen. Sebastian bit his lip.

After the kiss—if you'd call it just a kiss—Sebastian stayed frozen, staring at Kurt as the other boy manoeuvred from his space between Sebastian and the wall to retreat back to his room with out another word. Sebastian stood there for another few minutes, doing nothing (in shock, he claimed) before turning off the lights and going to bed.

All night, he had lay in bed, mulling things over. He just wanted Kurt to stop talking, he had gotten enough as it was last night, and gave Kurt something else to do with his mouth. Oh God, why couldn't he just have covered his mouth with his hand?

But kissing Kurt…felt right. It wasn't like the way Sebastian would kiss his other friends with just a small peck of greeting or teasing half-heartedly at parties. It wasn't even like the way Sebastian would kiss his conquests: with lust and need. Kissing Kurt was like breaking down a barrier Sebastian didn't even know existed, let alone wanted to break down.

The way they fit together, and not just lips. He liked that Kurt was the perfect height so Sebastian didn't have to lean down so much, and he liked that Kurt's neck was the perfect length for Sebastian to slide his hand over to grip him closer. And oh, did he like that they had felt so natural.

Oh shit, he enjoyed kissing Kurt Hummel.

Sebastian ran a hand through his hair and started the coffee machine, putting a scoop of beans into the grinder. He's so fucking screwed, because Kurt has a fucking boyfriend and since his last relationship he's become so careful about cheating. Especially when it comes to him. Sebastian can't recall how many times he's listened to Kurt talk about him and how he could be the one and now he's going to hate Sebastian so much for last night.

"This is strange," he turns around surprised to see Kurt walk in rubbing his eyes, "Why are you awake before me?" He doesn't sound mad, or pissed off, but that might be the lack of caffeine in his system.

He gave a slight nod to the other boy, "I-I sleep too much for my own good." Kurt just hummed, leaning his elbows on the kitchen island and propped his head up. There's an uncomfortable silence—at least to Sebastian—that Kurt isn't very aware of.

And maybe this is good thing, Sebastian thinks. Pretend that last night didn't happen and move on with their lives seemed like a wonderful option, but Sebastian knows if they go with that, it'll just be a matter of awkward glances and racing thoughts until one of them breaks that silence and talks about it. And Sebastian knows Kurt will be the one who breaks that silence.

"Seb," Kurt said suddenly.

Definitely the one who breaks that silence.

"Seb," he repeats a little more conscious.

"I should…" he trailed off. What was he supposed to say? That he was sorry? Pfft, lame. It didn't seem like Sebastian at all.

"Bas," Kurt started towards him. Shit. He didn't have a place he could run to. "God, turn this off," he says reaching towards the coffee machine. "The sound is driving me nuts."

"That," he breathed in relief. Maybe Kurt forgot.

"Yeah, that," Kurt repeated, pulling two cups from the cabinet. "What did you think I was going to beat you up? Not yet honey, I don't have enough caffeine in my system to do that," he gave a short laugh.

Even joking, Sebastian kept his eyes trained on Kurt as the boy took the coffee pot from the station and set it on a pot coaster. He turned back to Sebastian and raised an eyebrow expectantly.

Sebastian held up his hands in defence, "I've already made the coffee. Your turn to do something."

"You pressed an 'on' button."

"And scooped coffee beans into the machine. God, give me a little credit, Kurt."

Kurt scoffed and Sebastian relaxes a bit. They're back to their usual push and pull and there's just the faintest tingling in Sebastian's chest. His friend divides the coffee up between the two mugs and hands one to Sebastian.

"Why weren't you awake before?" he asks. Honestly, he's a bit curious as to why Kurt slept in seeing as he rarely did so.

"It's Friday, so I decided to take the day off," he takes a sip, "Want pancakes?"

"No it's fine, I'm not hungry," Sebastian states, ignoring the low grumbling in his stomach.

The other boy lowers his cup, "You're not sick are you?" He reached over to feel Sebastian's forehead, making him jump back and hit the island counter.

"No just—" he placed his cup on the counter behind him, "I'm fine. I just need to clear my mind, that's all." He slipped past an inquiring Kurt and went into his studio, locking the door behind him. His sketchbook from last night was resting on the centre table, most likely put there by Kurt, open to the drawing he didn't finish.

Sebastian ran his fingers along the edge of the page, smiling wryly. If his sketchbook was on the table it meant Kurt got up in the middle of the night to put it there, just like he did all Sebastian's art supplies that wandered from his studio. There was that tingling again.

Looking down at the drawing, he decides he could finish it right then and there. It wasn't Nuit Blanche material, but it helped to keep his hand and mind occupied. He raised his head to catch a glimpse of a white canvas and groaned.

Sebastian stalked out of his studio and through the apartment, grabbing his keys off the hook and phone from its charging dock.

Kurt was still in the kitchen, sipping his coffee as he flipped through one of his magazines. "Where are you going?" he asked, looking up.

He shrugged, raising his arms up and then dropping them down with a thump, "A walk? I can't really spend the whole day here."

Kurt nodded and looked back down, leaving Sebastian to close the apartment door after him. On his days off, Kurt would be found like that. He calls them his 'Mini-Vacations' ("Okay, not the most creative name for them, but they're vacations to me nonetheless, Sebastian."). Relaxing on the balcony or in the living room or in the kitchen in the mornings. The afternoons were devoted to vintage movies he's seen a hundred times, take-out, and doing nothing.

He had forced Sebastian to join him on a few occasions only for Sebastian to be scolded at for drawing on his skin with pen out of boredom. Sitting still for a few hours never was his forte.

Sebastian walked a few blocks before stopping by at a store to buy another carton of cigarettes. He'd get into trouble when he goes home, but he just needs to fill his craving. And then maybe something might hit the fan he's been throwing at.

He lifted one cigarette to his mouth and lit it up, inhaling deeply before walking again. Feeling the air fill him up felt familiar, like something he'd been longing for. Even if it was for a few hours.

The day was chilly despite the sun, as most autumn days are in Paris. The leaves are in the middle of changing colours and it's everything his little artist heart loves. The streets are mostly empty, with traffic dying down and pedestrians rushing to work or school.

The park is riddled with trees, and leaves that go a satisfying crunch under Sebastian's feet. He situates himself under a trunk and takes another drag of his cigarette, exhaling as his eyes roamed the scene in front of him. His hand itches for something to do and Sebastian curses himself for not bringing his sketchpad out.

He used to spend long mornings under that exact tree during the first few months they moved in. All he seemed to need was a travel mug full of coffee, his sketchbook and coloured pencils. Sebastian doesn't know what he did with that sketchbook, but it was one of his favourites.

Finishing the cigarette, he stubbed the butt out on the ground next to him before he started to laugh. He could never be a lawyer. Even if the Nuit Blanche is a complete disaster, he wouldn't give up making art. He can't. It's what thrives in his blood, his head, his mind.

Sebastian reached into his pocket for the cigarettes when his phone started to vibrate. Groaning and kicking his feet out like a tempered child, he pulled his cellphone.

Emmy was calling.

He hesitated. The day was so nice and relaxing so far and the idea of leaving her hanging seemed very appealing to him but she never would have stopped calling. And then if he shut his phone off, he'd get a lecture about it later. Leaning back against the trunk, he braced himself and pressed the accept button.

"Ugh, finally. Maybe next time, I should put a collar on you that shocked you until you answer my calls."

"That's kind of kinky," he muttered before erupting in over-dramatic joy, "Oh, Emmanuelle! Bonjour, mon chere. I'm doing just fine, merci merci. It was so nice of you to ask."

"Okay, okay." Sebastian heard her sigh into the receiver, "'Bastian, I need to see you. Preferably now. We need to discuss a few things."

He huffed, his chest comically deflating as he hunched forward. "I don't wanna."

"Sebby, honey, can we please meet for coffee? There are a few tiny little things you need to know about the gallery, and quite frankly, I'd like to see you," she said with a little repentance in her voice.

"Why does everyone call me 'Sebby', it's just so irritating."

"Sebastian, I'm—" she growled.

"Serious, I know," he finished for her, standing up and dusting his hands off on his pants. "Where do you want to meet, Emmy?"

Sebastian could practically hear her smile, "Jeanne's Cafe in an hour? Oh! And I need you to give me back the papers I sent you last week."

"The—what?" he asked, confused.

"Papers. Bring the damn papers with you," she cursed before hanging up.

Well, great. Now he had to go look for goddamn papers. Sebastian trudged back home, trying to remember where he put those papers he's pretty sure he lost in the chaos that is his room and studio.

A cigarette and ten blocks later, he's back at his building, rushing up the stairs, taking two at a time. When he opened the door, he's surprised to see Kurt in not-mini-vacation-day clothes and his hair styled. He was sitting on the island counter, with his head thrown back in the midst of laughter.

Hearing the door close, Kurt turned his head to look at Sebastian. "Hey, you're home," he sniffed the air, obviously noticing the change in quality, "You've been smoking. I can tell." Oh, he's in for it now. But instead of going into another monologue, Kurt surprised Sebastian again by asking him about his walk.

He was about to answer when a tall, slender blonde walks in from the balcony with tousled hair and partially swollen lips (possibly from kissing). "Hey Seb, how's it going?" he greeted with a smile.

Sebastian lifted a hand in acknowledgment. "So there's the reason why Kurt decided to cut his Mini-Vacations short," he said smirking. "Hey Peyton." Last night. Kiss. Boyfriend. Peyton. Sebastian felt awkward again. "Horrible. Nerve-racking. I'm so close to ripping my hair out. So pretty much how it always is."

Peyton walked over to Kurt, torso slipping between his thighs and hands coming to slip around his waist as Kurt's arms rest comfortably on his boyfriend's shoulders. "Still blocked?" the blonde asked.

"Mm, 24/7. And he won't shut up about it either," Kurt hummed, ducking to press a kiss to Peyton's lips.

"He can hear you and as much as he likes free porn, watching you and Peyton do it is a little creepy. It's just something about knowing the people that makes it less enjoyable." Sebastian said, taking a water bottle out of the fridge, just to do something. He heard Peyton snort behind him followed by a light smack, he's positive came from Kurt. "I've gotta go find some papers Emmy asked for that I'm sure I lost and then I'm out again."

He turned around to see Peyton's mouth practically glued to Kurt's neck. Sebastian shifted on his feet, "So, yeah. Condoms and lube are in the medicine cabinet if you need extra. Okay." He walked back out of the kitchen and into his studio, placing the water bottle on a relevantly clear surface.

"Alright," he said to himself, "Where the fuck did I leave those papers?" The studio was the epitome of clutter ("It's an organized mess, Kurt."). Sebastian swears he could always find everything he needs—under other stuff he needed yesterday. He took a deep breath. He could do this. He's found detail brushes and specific outlining pencils before, so.

It was paper, that's a start. But from that category, it could be anything ranging from a single sheet to a full packet. Maybe he used it for floor covering. He lifted an easel and squinted down at the discarded flyers on the ground, seeing if he could find any important documents.

On a mental note, he should really start listening to people. Especially when they give him certain information or something he has to remember.

He's flipping through one of his books when someone clears their throat behind him. Turning around, he saw Emmy, leaning against the doorjamb, a smile on her face. "Are you looking for something, 'Bastian?"

Sebastian shrugged, "Just a bunch of papers my shark of a publicist sent me."

"Oh, you flatter me, ma chere."

"Just doing my job."

"If that was your job, you wouldn't need to be searching around your studio for nonexistent papers."

Sebastian blinked a few times, "Wait what?" Emmy doesn't say anything and holds out her hand for him to take. He eyes it suspiciously for a moment but eventually takes it when she snaps her fingers.

She pulls him out into the living room where Kurt is sitting on the couch. Peyton is nowhere to be found and there's a slight alleviation that washes over Sebastian. "Do you know what she's going to do with me?" he asks Kurt.

Kurt pats the empty spot next to him, smiling, "Just sit, Bas." He does as he's told while Emmy stands in front of the two.

"'Bastian," she started, "this is an intervention."

"I'm not an alcoholic."

"Addict, though. Nonetheless," Kurt claimed rubbing his palm in circles on Sebastian's back. "Emmy and I are going to help you. We're going to give you two options: you either back off from the Nuit Blanche and go back to being your seemingly normal self—"

"Honey, you know I can pull you out if you want me to," Emmy voiced, cutting him off, perhaps anticipating the string of insults on Sebastian's tongue. She was trying to calm him down.

"You don't need to, I'll come up with something, just don't pull me out." Truth was, he wasn't so sure if he could have a gallery ready in twenty days and he can't let her pull him out because she had worked so hard to get him a spot in the first place.

"And you won't have any cigarettes around," Kurt reached into Sebastian's pocket and fished out the box of cigarettes, tossing them to Emmy before his friend could react.

"Kurt, I'm going to be as clear as I can be: I. Won't. Stop. SMOKING." Sebastian yelled.

The other boy only smiled, "Yes you will."

"Are you seriously considering me throwing my cigarettes out of the window, paint a whole bunch of things, deal with a stupid art critic who is probably going to hate my work just because you don't like me smoking?"

Emmy ignored his spiel and put her hand on her hip, "We are going to make a deal with you."

* * *

A/N: Sorry for the waiting guys! but I hope you enjoyed this part :)

And thank you so much for all your sweet comments! I love to know what you think about the story :) and as always to my beautiful beta, who helped a lot with this part too!

Oh, just in case you wanna meet Emmy and Kurt's boyfriend Peyton you can take a look of who I imagine as them on my LJ ( ouestmonesprit . live journal


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N**: so, you have the right to kill me. I can't believe this took me so long! My RL was horrible busy, it will until next Saturday and I just couldn't stop calmly to write something decent, and in the middle of the month TLOS arrived at my home and I basically just got distracted with it. Really sorry about that, I promise it won't happen again!

And as always thanks to Flo 3 (My co-writer and beta) and you guys thanks for all the favs and the lovely comments!

* * *

Sebastian looks between the two skeptically, "I'm going to regret this, but go on."

Kurt smiled, "Before I was interrupted, I said we are going to give you two options: either you back off from the Nuit Blanche—thought that doesn't seem like happening—or you are going to accept the stress-relieving substitute we offer you."

"Kurt I told you, I'm not going to take a shower every time I feel angsty," Sebastian said rolling his eyes.

"That's what I thought," his grin got wider, "Which is why, we'd like to give you something you'd actually like in exchange."

Sebastian raised an eyebrow, "Like pot? Haven't tried that since Junior year, but—ow." He rubbed the spot where Emmy smacked him on the head.

"Not pot, you idiot," Kurt said, shaking his head. "I have a better idea, after—after last night we—"

"I knew you didn't have pot—ow. Will you stop that?" Emmy smacked his head again.

She looked down at him, "No, so shut the fuck up and listen."

Sebastian smirked, "Ooh, Emmy's got claws—I like. Gah!" This time both Emmy and Kurt smacked him on the head.

Kurt sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, impatiently. "After last night, I saw how you could relieve stress in other ways that are healthier. Like last night, with…"

"Kissing," Emmy finished for him, causing Kurt to actually blush.

Sebastian leaned back on the couch and rotated his hand in the air, "Go on." He held his breath as she clasped her hands together and dropped her gaze to the floor. He gasped, putting the little pieces they've offered together.

The aftermath wasn't over.

Finally looking up, her eyes met his and he let out his breath, waiting for her to continue. "Kurt is willing to let you kiss him every time you feel frustrated or anxious; mainly when you feel like smoking."

He blinked a few times, slowly assessing the information. "So every time I want a cigarette…"

Kurt took in a shaky breath, "Y-you come to me and I'll—," he sighed, "I'll kiss it better."

Sebastian's eyes widened in disbelief. And to risk sounding like an idiot, he said, "What?"

Dragging a hand over his face, Kurt offered, "Since I don't think you'd enjoy kissing Emmy—"

"And I enjoy kissing you?" he asked stupidly. He winced slightly at the thought of it.

"Well I figured after last night—"

"I don't," he said it too quickly sounding defensive. "It was all reflex and wanting to shut you up."

"Ah, yes you do. You like kissing me," Kurt said smugly.

"No, I don't," Sebastian shook his head to emphasize his point.

"Yes, you do."

"No, I don't."

"Yes, you do."

"No, I—"

"Enough, you sound like children!" Emmy snapped, obviously tired of their shenanigans, "I don't care if you two make out 'till the end of the world or if you vomit when your lips touch." She pointed to Sebastian, "You. Are. Going. To do it." She then pointed to Kurt, "I'm tired of his periodic calls and texts about how much he's worry about you so you are going to stop smoking and just kiss your best friend until you're fucking calm."

"Calm doesn't last forever," he mumbled, earning a dirty look from Emmy. This is a joke. This is ridiculous. Sebastian knows Kurt will never go through with it because he's got a fucking boyfriend he loves and would never cheat on.

"Can't you just be serious for once, Seb?" Kurt asks.

"I am," he leaned forward to rest his arms on his knees, "And what about the giant elephant that was out on the balcony sucking your face off?"

Kurt bit his lip, "I talked to Peyton earlier and he's okay with it. Believe it or not, Sebastian, he cares about you too."

"That's just a way to ease you into that threesome I know he wants."

"Don't flatter yourself, Bas," he said rolling his eyes.

Sebastian put a hand to his chest, "Oh, but I have to. I deserve it after the emotional trauma you and Emmy afflict on me."

"'Bastian, if you know what's good for you, you'll agree to this," Emmy said, obviously spent with Sebastian. After receiving a small nod from the artist, she turned to Kurt and slid a hand down her face, "How do you deal with him, mon ami? Il est frustrant."

"He can hear you," Sebastian spoke up, in which Emmy took another turn at slapping Sebastian upside the back of his head.

* * *

Emmy ended up staying longer than Sebastian would admit to wanting her there, joining both of the boys for lunch as well as dinner. Kurt invited her to stay the night, saying it was far too late for her to travel all the way back across town (It's not that late, and she could always take a cab"), much to Sebastian's dismay.

Kurt's not exactly subtle and Sebastian can tell he wants her to stay so Sebastian doesn't sneak off in the middle of the night to by a new carton of cigarettes from the convenient store at the end of the street. He forced Sebastian to sit down and finish his movie marathon with him and Emmy.

Emmy, in a set of comfortable clothes ("Emmy, sweetheart, do you always carry a change of clothes in your purse—ow"), waltzes into the living room with a bowl of popcorn that Kurt must have snuck into the pantry without Sebastian knowing and sat down on the air mattress laid on the ground at their feet.

Kurt shifted comfortably on the sofa, assuming the normal position of leaning against Sebastian who has his feet up on the coffee table who then slings an arm over the other boy's shoulders and starts carding his hand through his newly showered hair.

He starts combing Kurt's hair to stick up in the middle, like a little faux-hawk, hoping Kurt is too enamored with the movie to notice it starting to dry like that. Sebastian settles down and actually tries to watch the movie with minimal fidgeting.

Giving up on the plot (something foreign that was foreign to Sebastian), he tilted his head back onto the back of the couch and slipped his eyes closed only for a moment.

A few hours later, he wakes up a bit confused. He's lying horizontally on the couch with a blanket bunched at his waist. Bless Kurt, Sebastian thinks before he untangles himself from the blanket and sits up, rubbing his face.

Emmy sleeps soundly on the air mattress, a small smile splaying on her features. She reminds Seb a lot of his mother: both serious yet nurturing women who had the ability to scare Sebastian if she wanted to.

He stands up and heads to the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of water from the refrigerator, taking a sip. Sebastian leaned his elbows on the counter top and reviews the day in his head, snorting at his conversation with his two best friends.

"Fuck. Like that'll happen," he mutters to himself. He knows Kurt is right, cigarettes are not fueling his inspiration, but he'd still rather smoke like a chimney than kiss his best friend every time he feels like smoking.

This whole 'aftermath' deal is too bizarre for Sebastian's decaffeinated brain.

He can't do this to Kurt. Kurt has a boyfriend he loves, who loves him back, and Sebastian was nothing but his best friend—his wasn't a mindless relationship to Kurt, no, this was his 'fairytale relationship', the one he hasn't had like this since Blaine. And as disgustingly sweet Kurt is with Peyton, Sebastian hasn't seen Kurt that happy without him. It makes him wonder why Kurt would even risk all of that.

Kurt's not like any of the other relationships he's ever had. And by any, Sebastian means any. Ever since they were old enough to understand the presence of each other, they had been inseparable. He wouldn't risk that relationship if his life depended on it, because he couldn't imagine his life without his best friend in it.

Instead of pondering more, Sebastian shook his head. This was Kurt. He knows what he's doing. Right?

Right?

Fuck, he really needed a cigarette right now, but Emmy was a light as fuck sleeper so sneaking out of the house was probably out of the question with her here.

Kurt had his cigarettes, Sebastian's brain offers. If anything, he kept them in his room, a sure place Sebastian would never enter without his permission.

He wanders down the hall and pushed the door open silently, ducking his head in to make sure Kurt was actually asleep before he crept in. The plan was easy: sneak into Kurt's room, find the cigarettes, acquire said cigarettes, smoke out on the balcony, and then laugh internally at Kurt and Emmy in the morning for thinking they can keep Sebastian from smoking.

He stepped carefully in, avoiding anything on the ground in case they spontaneously sprung up to ring an alarm and flash lights, foiling his beautifully thought up plan. Sebastian looked over to the nightstand, searching for the carton to no avail. He quietly pulled open the small drawer and scanned its contents, none looking remotely like the small box.

Crouching down, he tries the underside of the bed, hoping Kurt taped the cigarettes there. Frowning at his failed discovery, he leaned back on his haunches, taking notice of Kurt's sleeping form. His mouth was slightly agape, tongue darting out to lick lightly across his lips before his entire body rolled over to his side.

The next thing Sebastian thinks of could end his life, but he musters up the courage and places a hand lightly on Kurt's shoulder, shaking him gently.

"Kuuurt. Baaaaabe," he pulled his hand back when Kurt groaned in confusion. "Hi, sweetie. How are you? Good? Sleepy? Sorry to wake you up, but I want to know where you put my cigarettes."

Blinking a bit to clear his vision, Kurt glares at him to the best of his ability, "What the fuck, Sebastian?"

Sebastian shifts his weight, feeling like a child again. "I haven't smoked in a while."

Kurt brings up his hand to cover his eyes, "If this is your reason for waking me up, I swear I will kill you."

"Come on, you know this is stupid, so just tell me where my cigarettes are and everything will be normal again," he offers.

"Just go back to sleep, Seb," Kurt groans, rolling over again.

"Kuuurtsie, this is pointless." He waits for Kurt to answer, but he's only met with silence. "Kurt you know you'll give up eventually." Another silence. "Come on, you know you want me to leave you alone." He pushes gently at Kurt's shoulder again, "You hate me when I'm in your room and you hate it when people talk to you while you try to sleep, so just give up the location of my cigarettes and no one gets hurt."

"I'm going to hurt you if you keep annoying me," he hears Kurt mutter.

Sebastian smiles a bit, then pulls Kurt until he's rolling over to the side so he's facing Sebastian. He places his chin on the edge of the bed and blinks up innocently at Kurt, "I won't leave you alone until I get what I want."

Kurt only rolls his eyes. Sebastian moves so his face is closer to Kurt's, "Seriously, Kurt I need to smoke."

Kurt surges forward a little to brush their lips together. Sebastian stays frozen when Kurt pulls back and sighs shifting onto his back, closing his eyes. "There, now get out," he says waving a hand at Sebastian.

After a much needed minute of recollection, Sebastian stands up, "I fucking hate you." He leaves the room without another word, hearing the faint, "I love you too, Seb," from Kurt's bed, and makes his way to his own room, collapsing on the bed with a groan.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: I'm really sorry for the waiting! I know I said it won't happen again, and it did. I'm really sorry, it's just real life can be a bitch sometimes, and flo and I got busy a lot, but we'll do our best for the next part!

Also I want to say a massive thank you to everyone reading this (If you are still reading after the waiting!) it makes me smile every time you say you are enjoying the fic and that you like it. So thank you, for the support and the sweet comments, they make me wanna write, even when I don't have the time or the energy to do it (:

And to Flo who is always helping me!

I should go and stop boring you, so here part 5.

* * *

Sebastian sat on the balcony seat with his fourth cup of coffee in his hands. The morning sun rose slowly behind the Eiffel Tower, making the sky a pretty shade of purple. As dawn broke, he took a tentative sip of the hot liquid keeping his fingers from freezing. He hadn't slept all night, he simply couldn't. The kiss hadn't helped him to relax, and there was that bizarre feeling of familiarity that confused him. That kissing Kurt felt right.

And that shouldn't happen right?

_No, of course not._

He shook his head taking another sip. Perhaps Kurt felt the same way about it. The way that it was so natural and felt so normal, like their lips were made to be mushed together, made it easy for Kurt to make the deal without batting an eye. It wouldn't change their life-long friendship. Ever. Because Kurt's smart like that.

Sebastian sighed and decided he would never understand anything Kurt did, though he still loved the boy for it. I've had way too much coffee and I need a smoke.

"Well look who's up before me two days in a row. I'm impressed," Kurt joined him on the balcony, taking a seat on the other chair.

Sebastian gestured Kurt's form, "And there's the cause of my insomnia."

"Consider me flattered as well," he said smugly before taking Sebastian's mug from his hands and taking a sip.

"You are so annoying," he reached for his cup, "Can you just give me my cigarettes before I jump off this balcony and go out running in the streets in my pajamas? You already know I'm going to buy new ones later. You can't do this forever, Kurt."

Kurt held the coffee away from him, "But it's working, you haven't smoked."

"Kurt, look at me." He paused so Kurt could, "In your hands is my fourth cup of coffee. It's not working."

The other boy looked from his friend to the cup in his hands, "It's going to stunt your growth, babe. You want to make a deal and switch caffeine for something too? I'm not up for having sex with you, but I could get someone if—"

"Kurt!" he yelled, "One more of your deals and I'm going to burn the clothes you're wearing, while you're wearing them. And then I'm going to light a match and toss it into your closet."

"You wouldn't last a day without me," he took another sip of Sebastian's coffee, "And you wouldn't last a day without me looking this good."

"I could try," Sebastian mumbled, looking away.

Kurt put the cup down on the ground and reached over to squeeze Sebastian's knee, "Seb, you can't even me mad at me. You will die without me."

"Well I guess we'll see if you won't let me smoke again."

Kurt laughed at that and Sebastian couldn't help but join him. Why couldn't he be mad at Kurt? He was before, but for some reason it dissolved quickly as the two boys laughed on the balcony while the morning rose and the sun hit their eyes.

"Oh Carl, you are perfect—just perfect! I can't wait to tell him, he's going to be ecstatic!" The laughter died down as Emmy came out onto the balcony with a huge smile plastered on her face. It made Sebastian worry. "Okay, I'll—yes don't worry, I'll take care of it. Okay, au revoir."

She hung up and beamed at Sebastian, giving the boys a good morning. She was wearing Sebastian's long sleeve shirt and a pair of shorts that were probably left over by Rachel when she visited last spring.

"Where did you get that shirt?" Sebastian blurted out. It was better than asking why she was so happy. "I haven't seen that in weeks. Have you been stealing from me, Emmy?"

She looked down at her torso, "No, isn't it Kurt's? I found this ensemble in his room."

Sebastian turned to look at Kurt who was staring at the ground, trying hard not to blush. "It's comfortable to sleep in," Kurt muttered so quietly that Sebastian almost missed it.

The taller boy smirked, "And here I thought you hated my clothes."

Kurt's head snapped up, "I hate your style, you under-appreciative frat boy! You dress like a douchey Steve from Blues Clues! I'm still wondering if there are asshat cartoon animals that follow you around. I just like the comfort of that shirt."

"He's right, it is quite comfy, 'Bastian," Emmy said playing with the hem of the shirt.

"Whatever, you like my clothes," he found himself with the mental image of Kurt wearing his shirt and a small warm feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"For sleeping," Kurt retorted.

"Because you love my scent. It helps you get to sleep at night."

"Trust me, I washed that shirt ten times and steamed it to get rid of the nicotine. I don't."

"Boys, it's a stupid shirt," Emmy rolled her eyes and settled down on Kurt's lap, reaching down for the cup of coffee. "Why don't you ask me why I'm so happy?"

"Because you scare the shit out of me," Sebastian confessed.

"Well it shouldn't because—"

"I see where this is going and I don't like it."

"Emmy, do tell us what it is you're so awfully happy about." Kurt said smiling in spite of Sebastian.

"Emmanuelle, another one of your great news and I'll jump off the building," he warned her.

"You said that this morning," Kurt said.

"Anyway," Emmy cut in, "Seb my sweetheart, my beauty, my artist, my—"

"You'll have to deal with my dead body if you don't cut to the chase."

"Idiot. I got you an interview." She clapped her hands together in excitement, "Remember Robert Hughes?"

Sebastian paled at the name. He glanced over to the balcony's edge, contemplating throwing himself off at any given moment.

"I assume you do, and guess who the brilliant person is who got you an interview after the Nuit Blanche? Oh yes, mon cher, I'm a genius, I know." Her smile grew wider—if it was possible. Sebastian looked at her, then to Kurt, then back at her. Both looked horribly exultant.

"This is a joke right? Tell me this is a fucking joke. How am I going to do an interview after he sees the worst work of my entire life?" Sebastian said starting to grow angry and scared. "He could kick me out of the art world with one word, do you know that? What a wonderful idea, Emmy. I cannot thank you enough for successfully planning the death of my career."

"But this is a great opportunity for your career, I thought you'd like it," her smile faltered as she got up.

Sebastian rubbed a hand over his face, "Why didn't you think to ask me first?" He stood up facing her. "Do you realize how much pressure this is? Not only do I have to present in the greatest art festival and have the best art critic inquire my poor work, I also have to explain my bad choices to him. Great, fucking great."

"I'm sorry," she said quietly.

"That doesn't help does it?"

"I told you I'm sorry, I thought it would help!" she finally yelled. Sebastian could tell she was hurt, doing what she thought Sebastian would want to help his career.

"And what am I supposed to say?" Sebastian continued, "'Hey, Robert, my work fucking sucks, but if you close your eyes and turn off the lights you can see it's the most abstract, theoretical piece of art ever.'"

"Emmy, can you go inside?" Kurt said placing a hand on her arm, "I need to talk to Sebastian. Make some breakfast or something."

Emmy sighed and went inside without another word.

Once they were alone together, Kurt stood up and jabbed a finger at Sebastian's chest, "What is wrong with you? You're being an asshole."

"No," Sebastian turned to face him, "You're being the asshole for letting me get this angsty by keeping my cigarettes away."

"I'm not giving you anything, especially now. Emmy has just as much stress as you do. Do you think your work doesn't effect her PR job? She represents you and works well to show off your assets while still managing to keep you you. She's your friend and you're acting like a self-centered idiot. She's helping you."

"Helping? She's adding difficulties, more than I already have—"

"It's her job! It's her job to challenge your abilities because she knows that you can do it. She believes in you because you don't believe in yourself."

"Kurt, I'm stressed, I haven't slept, I haven't smoked and I'm jittery from the coffee I drank. I have piles of blank canvases I should paint and now an upcoming catastrophic interview I'm not ready for. And I'm not going to argue with you as well."

Thankfully, Kurt didn't fight back, which left Sebastian hoping that he'd be left alone to his anger and panic. Instead, his best friend stepped closer to Sebastian and suddenly the balcony felt smaller than it really was with Kurt pressed up against him, face only centimeters away. Without warning, Kurt took Sebastian's face in both of his hands and pulled him down just so their lips touched.

Sebastian froze like last night, letting a very wide awake Kurt slot their lips together. He didn't respond and eventually Kurt pulled away to find a stunned, and much to his own surprise, calmer Sebastian.

"Better?" he asked, still holding his face. When met with silence, Kurt sighed, "Deal remember?"

Sebastian sneered, finally able to regain control of himself, "Sadly, I do."

Smiling, Kurt dropped his hands and took a step back, "Good, now apologize to Emmy."

"And why should I do anything you say? As far as I can remember, you don't own me."

"Look, miscreant, you and I both know who wears the pants in this relationship and who's the one that's whipped. Go inside and do what you're supposed to so people don't hate you for your asshattery. I can only apologize to people for your behavior so many times."

Sebastian narrowed his eyes, "How many times?"

"Enough for people to start feeling sorry for me," Kurt says, opening the door and gesturing inside, "If this goes well, I might consider giving you a cigarette. Might."

The taller boy huffed and walked inside—not because Kurt said to, but because he needed more coffee and the machine was in the made his way to get another cup from the cabinet and poured himself another cup of coffee.

Kurt walked past Sebastian and took the cup out of the latter's hands, ignoring his protests. "No, that's enough coffee for you."

"Are you seriously a control-freak, Kurt?" Sebastian whined, "Seriously, I bet Peyton loves it when you dominate him—actually, didn't he smoke before you two got all serious? Kuurt, you're making me into another one of your boyfriends, stop it you're traumatizing me."

Defeated, Sebastian stared at Kurt while he drank his cup of coffee, earning pointed looks from him. "You're such a child," Kurt mumbled, "And I do not dominate Peyton."

The other boy snorted, "Please, he's such a bottom, you should know. You have to admit he'd look pretty on his knees for you."

Kurt rolled his eyes, trying not to blush, "Emmy's gone. You should call her."

"I don't want to and I don't care."

"She's your friend, you have to care," Kurt reasoned.

"I don't do friends, meaningful relationships are too complicated," Sebastian refuted.

His friend raised an eyebrow, "Right. Remind me why we live together?"

Sebastian shrugged and took a seat at the island, "I needed a cleaning lady." Kurt didn't appreciate the comment and slapped Sebastian's arm. "Ouch, Prissy, I was just being sincere."

"You need a nanny," he looked like he was going to say something else, but he shook his head slightly before he opened his mouth, "That's not the point, you have to call her. This is about her too, you know."

"More about me, though," Sebastian flinched when Kurt raised his hand again in threat, "Besides, she didn't have to get me an interview, less with Robert Hughes."

"Sebastian, Emmy's borne you during all your existential crises. She owns the right to mess up sometimes."

"I know, but she's just being over-dramatic, at the moment. I'll call her later when she's done PMSing."

"Yeah, she's the one PMSing and being over-dramatic," Kurt mumbled sarcastically.

Sebastian frowned but didn't argue. It was pointless to discuss it with Kurt and quite frankly, he had enough for one day dealing with Emmy.

He took his keys from the edge of the island.

"Um, where are you going?" Kurt asked, blocking his way.

"To enjoy the beautiful morning sunshine, where the hell do you think I'm going?"

"You need to smoke," Kurt guessed, leaning closer to him like he did outside on the balcony. Damn deal.

"Oh no, no, not again," Sebastian said as he pushed Kurt aside, "I'm done wit this. I don't want it, I don't need it."

He walked to the hall closet to pick out an overcoat, feeling the pockets for a stray cigarette and lighter, but found none much to his dismay.

"I'll go with you," Kurt said from the kitchen.

Sebastian sighed, slipping the jacket on. "Suit yourself," he said, already out the door and walking down the flight of stairs. A little while later, he heard Kurt close their door and follow him down.

Of course.

The streets were rather quiet for an early Saturday morning. Sebastian had a certain need to run off and scream at the birds that nestled in the shedding trees. He had a lot of coffee this morning. They walked the first few blocks silently, Kurt looking dangerously happy as he looped an arm around Sebastian's elbow, possibly proud of how long he's been able to keep Sebastian away from his cigarettes. Which is bewildering to Sebastian because he's going to the convenient store to buy a new carton anyway.

"Can you drop the face?" Sebastian asked, a bit uneasy, "It's scaring me."

"Why? It's a beautiful sunny morning, it's not my fault that you're cranky because you haven't slept," Kurt smiled wider, mocking him.

"Actually it is."

Kurt scoffed at that, "It's your fault for being an addict. You could sleep like normal people without smoking."

"Or I could have control of my own life and do whatever pleases me. Which includes burning my lungs into ashes if I wanted to."

Sebastian felt the other boy shrug, "You could, but you have a beautiful, intelligent friend to save your lungs."

"Don't get your hopes up," he replied, dragging them across the street, "I've got bad news for you, I'm going to buy cigarettes again to spare your lips."

"No you won't," Kurt said firmly.

He said the next words automatically without thinking, "Try me."

Kurt seemed to take the challenge as he stopped them in their tracks to pull Sebastian to face him before crashing their lips together.

"I did, and it's not really my type. Too ashy," Kurt smirked when he broke away.

"I just hate—"

"Is this why you haven't called me!?" yelled a relevantly shorter blonde boy out of nowhere. He stalked toward the two friends and gestured toward Kurt as if he was a giant octopus. "This? Really? I thought you could do better, Seb."

Sebastian furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. The guy definitely knew Sebastian, but—as usual—Sebastian couldn't put a name to that face.

"Excuse you," Kurt interjected, "Who the fuck are you?"

Sebastian tried to remember who the Keebler elf in front of him was.

"Why don't you ask your pretty boyfriend? I'm sure he has an excellent memory of me," countered the shorter boy, smirking at Kurt.

Sebastian shifted on his feet, "Um, not really. Remind me?" He doesn't even think to deny the fact that the blonde called him Kurt's boyfriend.

The boy's face fell, "For fuck's sake, you said it was the best night of your fucking existence!"

That didn't really help Sebastian's cause, "Yeah, I say that a lot. Nothing personal." He looked over to Kurt who tried to suppress a smug smile.

"I can't believe you ditched me for this gay-faced drag queen. I'm really disappointed, Smythe."

"Babe, I'm sure I fucked you until you saw stars, I tend to do that, but that was it. We fucked, we had a great time, the end. I don't call back, I don't fuck people twice, and as you can see I don't usually remember names."

"Are you fucking kidding me? Who the fuck do you think you are treating me like that?" the shorter guy turned red-faced at Kurt, "Watch yourself, Sharon Needles, you heard him yourself, he doesn't call back."

"Look, you nameless bigot," Kurt started. "First of all, my friend here didn't even bother to remember your name so you shouldn't even be relevant. Second, your insults don't effect me due to them being worn out by high school bullies and this idiot," he jabbed his elbow at Sebastian's side, "And last but certainly not least, I don't have to watch myself because he actually knows my name," he finished with a wink.

Kurt turned to face Sebastian and wrapped his arms around his neck to kiss him in front of Mr. NoName. Sebastian couldn't help but smirk against Kurt's lips, snaking his arms around his waist and watching as the blonde's eyes grew wider.

Sebastian pulled back this time, grinning at the guy who still stood in front of them, "I even know his birthday."

"Fuck you, Smythe," he said before he turned on his heel and started stalking away.

"I'm sure you want to, but you can only be in paradise once," he called after the blonde.

Looking back at Kurt in his arms, the shorter boy raised an eyebrow, "Really, Sebastian? Paradise? Don't be so modest."

"Well one could only try," he smiled, dropping his arms back to his sides, "And would you stop with the kisses? It's getting weird."

"Excuse me?" Kurt reasoned, distancing himself from Sebastian, "And the fact that random guys jump out of nowhere asking you for reasons why you won't call them back isn't weird?"

"Please, it's normal," Sebastian shrugged, walking into the store. "But it doesn't change the fact that kissing you is like kissing my brother, and that's not any type of kinky I'm into Kurt."

Kurt crossed his arms, "Well we aren't blood related and I kiss you because you need to relieve stress."

"I could start taking pills to relieve stress," Sebastian offered before taking a cigarette box off the counter display and handing it to the cashier.

"I'd have to put you in rehab."

"I'd rather be in rehab than be kissed by you." He gave the cashier the money and waited for the change. "You're not good for my mental health, Kurt."

The other boy clicked his tongue, "Good thing I gave up on your mental health a long time ago." Kurt grabbed the pack off the counter where the cashier placed it and walked out of the convenient store.

* * *

Thanks for reading, don't forget to let me know what do you think (:


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: I'm sorry for this waiting guys, I really am! Flo and I hate to be this irregular. Initially I planned to update every week which as you can see didn't work out, but what I promise, and that's for sure, it's that don't matter what I won't leave this unfinished. I have everything plotted and I really love to write this so don't worry I won't go anywhere :)

Now I hope you enjoy this, and as always thanks to Flo for help me out!

* * *

The weekend passed unbelievably slow for Sebastian. He hadn't done anything productive, rather than trying to sneak a few cigarettes which Kurt discovered and took away. He seemed to be there all the time, more often than usual, ready to slam his lips onto Sebastian's to abstain from smoking. Always smiling, willing and there. Sebastian started to think that Kurt was sickly enjoying torturing him.

Luckily, Monday morning Kurt had to go to work, leaving Sebastian alone with nothing but a threat that Sebastian brushed off per usual. As soon as Kurt shut the door, Sebastian waited a few minutes before running outside to the first store to buy cigarettes.

He felt a rush of guilt as he paid, keeping in mind that Kurt was just looking out for him. And as annoying as he can be sometimes, he is the only one who knows Sebastian enough to understand that the smoke coming out of his mouth is more than just a bad habit. He's terrified about the gallery and all this attention towards his work is driving him nuts.

Sebastian slipped another cigarette between his lips as he picked at a color with his brush. Another thing he'd like to put off for another while longer. He lighted the cigarette, taking a long drag as he mixed the colors on the palette.

A landscape. He was painting a fucking landscape. The one thing he swore he'd never do. It wasn't him, he even dropped a class in college because the professor's syllabus included painting landscapes for a month. And now he had decided to do a fucking landscape. It was emotionless and boring, and he had used too much water that made the paper start to curl.

Why was he doing a watercolor landscape? Because he didn't have anything better to do.

The only thing he had done in the past few weeks were two sketches of the Eiffel tower (which Sebastian had an abundance of). He'll do a good-looking landscape that every girl would love to have in her dorm room and every person pretending to know anything about art will consider it to be a masterpiece.

It'll suck, he has no doubt about it, but it's something. For the general public, not the critic. At least someone will like it.

He dropped the brush, leaning back in his chair with the cigarette between his fingers. No, this isn't working.

Sebastian doesn't have anything against people who do paint watercolor landscapes, but he just doesn't understand how they could express themselves in such blurry paintings. He's tried and failed several times.

Three cigarettes and a lot of bad words later, the paper in front of him seemed almost done. Pink and grey for the sky, a little orange and green towards the mountains. A combination between purples and blues for a soft river. A few sun rays over here and there. He felt like Bob Ross.

He's not pleased with it, but it looks cool. Kurt would definitely like it hanging in their living room.

He hears the sound of a door opening and keys dropping onto a table, even above the music Sebastian's been playing. Shitshitshitshitshit. Sebastian knows he's screwed. He barely had time to stub the cigarette out before Kurt shoved the studio door open.

Quick on his toes (or hands), Sebastian held up the painting, "So what do you think about my latest piece?"

Kurt took a deep breath, "I think, that you disregarded what I told you this morning."

He couldn't say he didn't see that coming, because Sebastian totally did. Kurt looked so disappointed as he crossed the room to open the window, leaving Sebastian to feel guiltier than he thought he would.

He squashed that feeling to the best of his ability and mustered up a reply worthy of their usual banter, "Yes, I disregarded your threat to my life if I smoked again this mornin—"

Kurt sighed again, "I get it. I'm an idiot for thinking you'd go one day unsupervised—"

"Would you let me explain?" Sebastian interrupted. He waited while Kurt nodded, eyes trained on his best friend, "I was feeling antsy. I haven't been able to sleep in days, if you haven't noticed. And look!" he gestured to the painting on his drafting table, "I painted something today."

"It's crap."

Sebastian deflated, "Yeah, I know."

"I just came in to tell you that Emmy called me today and she wants to talk to you, so stop being an asshole and call her back," Kurt huffed, heading back to the door, "And about smoking, I had enough to deal with at work to actually discuss this with you again. So, I'm giving you a leeway: you can smoke, as long as I'm not home. I'd also prefer if you'd do it out on the balcony. I really don't want to fumigate the fuck out of our apartment."

Sebastian stared at the back of his head for a second, even though he couldn't see his face, he knew how Kurt looked right now. His skin was a shade lighter and his eyes dull like the light was sucked out of his eyes. His posture was also more rigid, shoulders hunched forward.

Kurt only got this way when things got to hectic at work or in his personal life. But this state wasn't as terrifying as when Burt was in the hospital (after his second heart attack) a year back. Now that Kurt scared Sebastian. Kurt was stuck in Paris and wouldn't eat or sleep for days waiting by the phone for a call from his stepmother with the gracious news that Burt was okay. The boy lived off of coffee and copious amounts of vintage fashion magazines to pass the time.

By the end of it, Kurt was 10 pounds lighter, and completely useless for the rest of the week. Sebastian ordered him to bed and took care of him during the time, making sure he ate and rested until Kurt yelled at Sebastian through their bathroom door during a well-needed bubble bath.

Sebastian hasn't seen that Kurt since, and he's glad of it.

"You okay?" he asks genuinely.

His friend nods, "She wore me out, that's all." Kurt turns to face Sebastian and spots the pack of cigarettes on the table. He reached over Sebastian's shoulder to swipe them away, "Another one for my collection," he adds smugly, leaving the room.

Sebastian can't be mad at him. Not really. He felt a pressure on his chest he wasn't sure whether in sympathy of Kurt and the stress his insufferable boss puts on him or guilt that Sebastian cheated on their deal today of all days.

He followed Kurt out of the room and down the hallway, "Sophie's heckling you again isn't she?" He spotted Kurt slumped on the couch.

"She's come back from, and I quote, 'the worst business trip ever'. An she hates the new layout for the spread, even though she specifically told me it was fine before she left. Now she's making me change every page. I swear Sebastian, if you're not killing me softly, she is. And when she's through with me, she's going to dance on my grave in vintage Louboutins. The really nice black ones with the gold plated heel."

The artist sits down next to him and starts rubbing the other boy's neck, toying with the short hairs there. "You two have known each other for four years, if she wanted to get rid of you, she would have already done it. Sophie's kept you all these years because the magazine can't run without you, or because she's actually in love with you and she's doing that weird, reverse-psychology thing to get you to like her."

Kurt smacks him, but Sebastian goes on, "Do you think she has weird fantasies of you in her clothes? I mean, I've seen her a few times and her outfits are more outrageous than yours. I remember last Christmas, you dragged me to her holiday party and she wore that red and black corset-dress with a leather garter belt and fishnet stockings. She probably has a whole sketchbook at home of you in that stuff because hot damn if that isn't why she calls you in on the weeken—"

"Oh my god stop it," Kurt groans. He's now curled into Sebastian's body, but he's giggling too.

"I'm just trying to make you laugh, idiot," Sebastian says, stroking Kurt's back, "and I succeeded too. I don't think she's madly in love with you, though I'm sure she's insane."

"I'm still upset with you because you broke the deal."

"I haven't officially agreed, so technically I haven't broken anything."

"We've been kissing for two days, whether you agreed to it or not, the deal is intact."

Sebastian scoffed, "You practically raped my mouth."

Kurt shrugged, "You liked it."

And maybe he did. Maybe, Kurt noticed that Sebastian was getting more comfortable with the idea of kissing his best friend. No. Nononononononono, Sebastian get those thoughts out of your head. Kurt has a boyfriend. He doesn't need you and you don't need him in that way.

They remained silent, just in a (not so) platonic embrace on the couch. As they both unwound from the day.

"This is depressing," Kurt said, pushing off Sebastian to stand up, "I'm going to cook dinner, or die, or both, I don't know. I just need to do something."

"And while you do that, I'm going out for a walk," Sebastian said, sitting up.

"No, you can't go out and buy more. I'm here, which means you can't smoke," he replied, walking down the hall.

Sebastian cursed under his breath, "I don't know how this whole deal works, but I promise you, I'll find a way to around it."

"Good luck with that!" Kurt said before disappearing into his room to change. "But seriously, stay here!" he yelled.

"But I'm bored! I don't have anything else to do."

"Not gonna happen Smythe!" Kurt came back out into the kitchen and leaned his elbows onto the island counter, "So…remember when you promised that you'd cook at least once a year if I wasn't in the mood to?"

"No…?"

Kurt smiled, "Please?"

Sebastian stood up and leaned against the other side of the counter, "Are you 100% sure you want me to touch and prepare food in your kitchen that you're going to eat?"

"As long as the stove and fridge are still standing by the time you're finished, yes."

"Fine, I'll do it," he eyed Kurt warily, "I have one condition."

"Shoot."

"You, under no circumstance, are to tell me what to do. No comments, not snide remarks, no sounds. Just sit there."

Kurt raised an eyebrow, "And if you're on fire?"

"You don't have to talk to use a fire extinguisher."

"Deal. And I'll make this easy for you: make pasta."

Sebastian nodded curtly and opened the pantry, "Thanks so much." He pulled out a box of linguine and turned it over to look at the instructions (not that he needed them, but it's always good to make sure you don't cook them for too long or whatever). A muffled choke made Sebastian look up to see Kurt trying not to smile. The other boy picked at his fingernails and bit his lower lip.

Sebastian sighed, "Spit it out, Kurtsie."

Kurt shook his head, took his phone out, typed something and held it out for Sebastian to read. Can't talk. I'm here to watch.

"Kurt," Sebastian tried.

He just shook his head again.

"You're going to cut your lip and then bitch about it to me later, tell me."

"You just need to boil the pasta in water and stir. I'll tell you about the sauce part later."

Sebastian wasn't even going to reply to that, so he just turned around and filled a pot halfway with water and set it on the stove.

Half an hour later of scolding himself with the water and scraping pasta from the bottom of the pot (not to mention cringing and pained looks from Kurt), their dinner was almost ready and actually looked edible. The apartment wasn't on fire, which was a plus for Sebastian, and Kurt couldn't stop fidgeting.

"Seb, I'm hungry, can you stop decorating the plate?" Kurt said irritably.

He took another sprig of parsley and gently laid it on top of the alfredo covered lump in the center of Kurt's plate. And then another one, and another one, and another one. An impatient growl sounded from the other side of the counter and Sebastian grinned. An irritated Kurt is one of his favorite Kurts.

He straightened up and took the plates to the dining table, "Food is like art, you can't simply rush art, Kurt."

"Since when did the preparation and aesthetic of food tickle your fancy?" Kurt snorted, following Sebastian with forks.

"Since my real art work exceedingly sucks and my muse has yet to knock down our door and sweep herself to my studio," he said, sitting down.

Kurt laughed, "Oh right, your landscape."

Sebastian ran a hand over his face, "Ugh, don't fucking remind me. I don't even want to look at it." He scooped a forkful of the noodles and shoved it into his mouth, "I should frame it and then stand on the street, selling it to pedestrians or tourists. It'll be like that 'I Love Lucy' episode except there's only one painting and I'm not a con artist."

"You're an idiot," Kurt says licking his lips.

"Thank you?"

"I mean it."

"That's not helping."

"It's true though, Sebastian. That isn't you. You've been drawing since we were four and figured out that paint wasn't food. Never have I once, seen you paint a landscape at your own will. You don't even like watercolors, why do you even have those?" Kurt reasons.

Sebastian sighed with food still in his mouth.

"Don't tell me you're planning to do an entire landscape collection for the gallery."

"I don't know, okay?" he snapped, slamming his fork on the table, "I don't fucking know. Regardless of what I do, my work will suck. The critics—the critic—will be there, scrutinizing and judging every pencil mark, every brush stroke. What difference does it make if it's a landscape or surrealistic piece? It'll be the same, emotionless shit." Sebastian runs a hand through his hair and tugs at it, making it stand up. "I don't know," he repeats, defeated.

Kurt stood up and walked over to Sebastian. He leaned down to wrap his arms around his friend's neck. Sebastian knew he still smelled of cigarettes, but Kurt kept his head close to Sebastian's. Sebastian scoot his seat back and slid his arms around Kurt's waist and pulled him onto his lap to get him closer.

He sighed into Kurt's shoulder, smelling laundry detergent and hints of Kurt's shampoo. Kurt stroked down Sebastian's back, reassuring the artist over and over. "It's going to be okay, Seb. It's going to be alright."

Sebastian raised his head to look at Kurt, who gets the hint and moves to press their lips together. His doubts and thoughts get pushed back, focusing on how his body reacts to Kurt naturally. He needs the reassurance of his best friend, even if it means kissing him.

He loses himself in the kiss, letting Kurt soothe things over and trusting Kurt, because he knew what he was doing, right?


	7. Chapter 7

Hi, Beta/co-author here! So I apologize for keeping Annie from updating, but real life has just gotten so hectic these past few months and I haven't been able to write anything besides essay after essay for weeks. Thank you so much for your patience and I hope you like what we created—I really do. (:

Annie here, I'm sorry too I haven't been around either lately but I just wanted to thank you all for your replies and follows, they make me smile every time I read them! Thank you for keep up with this even if it's such a long time between the updates.

Also since I haven't been here since last year I wish you a very late good year. I hope it has started the way you all expected, with new dreams and full of energy to make them real, if it haven't happened yet don't worry you still have eleven and a half months to turn things around :)

* * *

Sebastian grumbled and climbed into the passenger seat, barely closing the door before Emmy pulled away from the curb in front of Sebastian's apartment. It was obvious she was still mad at him, remaining passive since their last fight a week ago. Talking to him through Kurt, clarifying that she wasn't going to forgive Sebastian any time soon without a real apology. He didn't do anything wrong, he simply pointed out an error she made and she got mad. He had nothing to apologize for and would rather wait for her to forget about waiting for an apology.

They're headed to a last minute meeting with the gallery owners, and normally Emmy would take care of these things, but insisted Sebastian come with to 'keep up appearances' or whatever. And given that neither of them were willing to speak first, they both sat in (what was uncomfortable for Sebastian) silence for half an hour.

Emmy ran two changing yellow lights only to slam her breaks on the next one, knocking the wind out of Sebastian's lungs as he lurched forward. "I'd appreciate to be alive at the end of the day, just so you know," he said, rubbing his shoulder where the seat-belt caught. "So could you just drive like a normal person."

"I'm not talking to you, and pray for that otherwise you'd be dead by the end of the day whether you're in or out of my car," Emmy replied, flooring the gas pedal as soon as the light turned green.

"First of all, you're talking so your point is futile. Second of all, don't you think it would be helpful if you just stop ignoring me for two seconds to tell me why the owners are having this meeting?"

He didn't know what else he was expecting but the woman next to him keeping quiet as she drove on. "Emmanuelle," he sighed. "I don't care if you don't want to forgive me, but your silence is pointless. You know just as well as I do that you have to tell me what we're going to be talking about at this meeting. It's your job too."

"It doesn't concern you, so just smile and look pretty," she said gripping her steering wheel, "And keep your mouth shut."

He raised an eyebrow, "Ma chere, you seem to forget, I'm the artist, I'm positive this concerns me."

Emmy stayed silent for another minute before she huffed, scowl still playing on the corner of her mouth. "You have a shared showroom with Alex. The owners want to know if your works can co-mingle or if they have to be on opposite sides of the room. They want to check on you and him just to know if everything is on track, maybe discuss the approach and theme you two have taken for the expose."

His brow furrowed, "And you didn't bother to inform me beforehand?"

"Would you have come if I'd told you that before I picked you up?"

"No," he scoffed matter-of-fact-ly.

"I've made my point," she smiled smugly.

She was right. If she had told him earlier, he probably would have called up the owners himself and told them he was sick, in bed, maybe with food poisoning. Sounds like the perfect excuse. But no, Emmy just has to know Sebastian, know how his mind works and play his habits to her advantage. Fuck, she's good.

Sebastian sank back in his seat. There was nothing he could say about his work, not at this stage in the process. Once he got home, he would have to lock himself in his work shop until he finished at least half of his supposed gallery or became mad from the paint fumes.

He must have fallen asleep at some point because the next thing Sebastian sees is Emmy's palm as it comes in contact with the cheek she didn't hit yet.

"If you were even remotely concerned about this meeting, you could have at least had the ability to stay awake," she said quietly. "Now, act like you were classy and pretend you didn't just wake up. I'm going to act like I don't hate you."

"Why are you whispering?" he asked, rubbing his throbbing face.

"Just get out of the car."

He did what he was told and stared up at the white warehouse in front of him. He had seen pictures of the inside before: high ceilings, hanging lights and blank walls he has to fill with barely-started, vaguely described art. Woot.

His lipped curled in distaste as Emmy looped her arm through his and pulled him toward the door. She threw on her professional face, smiling with just a stretch of her lips and walking with confidence. And Sebastian, at least, was breathing. He deserves a fucking gold star.

"They aren't going to strangle you," Emmy whispered, pulling the door open, "So relax."

The vastness of the inside was worse in person. The ceilings seemed taller and the walls seemed to stretch on for miles and miles. Just standing there, he felt so small.

"'Bastian, you're paler than Kurt. Just relax, if they ask you something, lie. You're good at that."

"I'm just thinking what the name of my law firm would be. How about 'The My-Life-Is-A-Chronicle-Of-Failures Law Offices of Sebastian Smythe'?" He said cheekily.

She pulled him along, toward three figures standing at the far corner of the room. The owners, Sebastian notes. Gus in his early forties and his daughter Amilié. Both alike in stature, features and personality. The last person was the other artist, Alex. Just by the looks of him, Sebastian wanted to punch his face.

He wore an outfit so bizarre, Kurt would have called it 'uniquely cliche'. This guy wasn't even trying with his green beret, turquoise and mauve stripped palazzo pants. Sebastian could say the man tried fraying from the stereotypical 'French Artist' look, eyeing Alex's smock/poncho/whatever wrapped around his torso.

"'Bastian," Emmy murmured in his ear as they closed in near the others, "Behave."

"I'm a perfect angel, Emmanuelle, I have the slightest idea why you would remind me to behave," Sebastian smirked.

Emmy rolled her eyes before turning to the owners, "Amilié, Gus. Nice to see you again." She reached out to shake their hands eagerly.

"Bonjour, Emmy," Amilié greeted, turning to Sebastian, "Sebastian, un plasir de voir."

"Ravi de vous voir aussi," he replied earnestly, taking her hand in both of his and giving a slight shake.

"Bastian let me introduce you." Gus chimed in, with a heavy accent. "This is Alex."

Sebastian mustered all his willpower not to laugh in the other guy's face as he reached out to shake his hand with more energy than needed, "Pleasure."

* * *

The gallery was enormous and where they were standing in is only the main showroom, Amilié said. There were also eight smaller rooms that were being renovated and wouldn't be available for the Nuit Blanche. "But don't worry boys, this entire room right here is at both of yours' disposal." She assured them with a smile, gesturing to the empty space. "Hopefully it'll be enough. If not, Papa and I'll just have to set up something outside."

Sebastian wanted to run, shout or fade, maybe all three at the same time. The room was more than enough space. Way more. "Calm the fuck down," he heard Emmy say under her breath as she anchored him to her side.

Thankfully, he did after the brief tour of the showroom. Apparently, every up-and-coming contemporary artist of the new-age 21st century has had a showcase here since it opened up. Each artist hand-selected by Gus and his daughter themselves. Sebastian thought the man was bullshitting a little too much, trying to appeal to them, but he really couldn't care less. As long as they didn't ask him for information about his work he was perfectly fine if the man wanted to ramble on for hours on end about how he had "practically discovered all the art in France" by himself.

"Alright I think it's time for us to listen to you two talk for a change. I hope you have great news for us," Gus chuckled, directing them to a back office.

It didn't sound like a gag, but Sebastian laughed along because breaking down and crying seemed inappropriate and stupid.

The office was dressed more as a conference room, a long wood table in the center with six chairs around it. An assistant was placing coffee cups in front of each seat.

"We thought you may need a little coffee after all the talking we did. Please, seat yourself." Gus waved the assistant away.

"Merci, it's helpful after a chilling morning like today's," Alex said, emptying container after container of half and half into his cup. "I can't tolerate the cold too much and I'd rather be in Hawaii or California these few months but duty calls," he smiles before sipping his coffee.

"So so so so sorry I'm late. I got stuck in traffic," another person rambled as they practically tumbled into the office. Whoever he was, he was greeted warmly by the owners as Amilié gestured to the assistant to help the man with his papers, saying something along the lines of, 'better late than never'.

Sebastian eyed the guy. He was small, big eyes emphasized by large black frames and blonde hair covered by a fedora (really? A fedora?). Still, his beige suit was better than the catastrophe Alex was donning. Kurt would have called him cute.

"You must be Emmy and Sebastian, right?" he pointed at them before holding out his hand eagerly. "I'm Chandler Keihl."

Sebastian shook his head slightly and was subtly nudged away by Emmy so she could take his hand. "Great to finally meet you."

Apparently, Chandler (disappointingly not Matthew Perry) was Alex's Emmy, his manager/publicist/something along those lines. Sebastian had an instant dislike for the guy. It might have been his naivety or maybe just his face, but he didn't like him.

"Glad I didn't miss the entire meeting. Here I have Alex's papers and a few photos I took last week so you could have a sneak peek of his work so far," Chandler laid out what was basically the contents of a portfolio on the table and beamed, "Alex and I are very excited."

Sebastian and Emmy looked at each other. "Lovely," he drawled sarcastically.

"Shut up," she mouthed. For the first time since they've been there, Emmy looked just as nervous and worried as Sebastian as she handed Sebastian's signed contract to Amilié without any picture whatsoever.

"Those watercolors," Gus exclaimed, taking one of the photos in his hand, "Alex you just know how to use them." He showed it to his daughter and pointed toward the bottom. "The reflection in the water there is unbelievable. Excellent. Great job."

_Well fuck him sideways with a broomstick._

* * *

Three cups of coffees, a pile of lies and a few inappropriate comments later, the meeting was finally over. But much to Sebastian's dismay, the day wasn't over yet.

"I'm going to kill you, softly." Emmy muttered when they were both buckling into her car.

"Just be glad I saved our assess with that excuse about 'keeping it secret because it's too beautiful that grainy photos do no justice to the real thing'," Sebastian retorted, bracing himself as she started the car.

"Oui, but now you actually have to make beautiful art work."

"Hey! I've got something."

"No, you have sketchbooks and blank canvases."

He huffed, "Look, the owners were very pleased and looking forward to my work. Amilié even said she'd buy a piece when the gallery opens!"

"Of course she'd buy a piece. She has a crush on you! I'm not worried about her. If you doodled on a napkin you wiped your mouth on and framed it, she would love it."

"You make it sound like she's a stalker with good taste," he said crossing his arms. "And even if she is, I should be the one freaking out not you."

"But you aren't which leaves me to freak out for you." She stopped the car at the next red light and turned to Sebastian, "Bas, I know this is hard for you. I know you haven't had this kind of pressure or exposure before, and I know it sucks that you have a block. But please, please, understand that this is hard for me too. Both of our careers are on the line if you screw up—"

"Eh, not really helping the 'no pressure' thing," he grimaced.

"Sebastian, you frustrate me, yes, but there isn't a day that I don't regret when I first found you. You have talent, Sebastian, I didn't put everything on the line for this if I didn't know you could do it."

The light shifted green and she turned back to drive again, "I have faith in you. I know what you're capable of, even if you don't know it yet."

"Everyone keeps telling me that," he says quietly. "'You can do it, I know you can', 'you don't know how amazing you are do you?'. I'm not. I can't. If I could, I wouldn't be half-assing my way through this. I'd have everything done, waiting for me to pin up on those pristine walls."

"You're a natural. You have a style that can't be taught in schools and you know it. Where's that cocky, egotistical boy who didn't give a damn about what anyone else thought of him?"

"He got hit upside the head by reality."

"Is that why you started smoking again?"

Sebastian shrugged and looked down at his hands. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw two cigarettes sitting in the cup holder of the center console. "Aha," he said plucking one up, "Who's going to cough up black lungs now?"

"Those aren't mine," Emmy said, smacking his hand out of her face. "Kurt gave me those this morning so I can reward you for the 'excellent job you did at your meeting'. But, alas, he's not the one who decides whether or not you've been good."

"Oh, Emmy. So funny, thinking you can tell me what to do," he found a lighter in the glove compartment and lit one up, rolling down the window. He breathed in the familiar smoke and let his head fall back against the seat. Even from all the packs Kurt had stolen, he still was able to pick which ones were Sebastian's favorite. This one wasn't so heavy on the nicotine, focusing more on the sweet vanilla infused into the cigarette.

By the time they reached Sebastian's apartment, Emmy seemed to be calmer, probably from the relief that the meeting was over. Sebastian, however, did not share the same sentiments. She dropped him off, but didn't stay, saying she had important things to do.

As he walked in and tossed his keys in the bowl, he noticed Kurt staring at him from behind their kitchen island. He shuffled closer, not breaking eye-contact with his roommate and pulled him in for a kiss.

It wasn't sweet or tentative. It was hungrier—angrier, possibly. For the first time since that night, Sebastian reciprocated Kurt's motions, sliding his tongue inside Kurt's waiting mouth, tasting chocolate lingering on his palate. Relief flooded Sebastian's whole being as he kept kissing Kurt. Feeling Kurt as Sebastian pressed him into the counter. It all felt like coming home.

He smiled against the other boy's lips.

"You taste like a washing ashtray. Next time you do that, eat a fucking tic tac before," Kurt said, trying to sound angry but doing a horrible job when the corners of his lips curled into a smile.

"My cigarettes were cool as Vanilla Ice. My favorite."

"So I've noticed. Did everything work out?"

"No," he thought about it, "Yeah, no. Definitely no. And I don't know what you did to my cigarettes, but they aren't working much either."

"So you're more taken to my kisses instead of cigarettes," Kurt said smugly. "I call that progress."

"Uh, no," Sebastian stepped back and sat down on the island stool. "I didn't say that."

"Well you implied—"

"Hey Seb, what's up?" The blonde walked in from their hallway.

_Fuck._

Sebastian faltered for a bit before conjuring up his best 'I-don't-give-a-fuck' demeanor, "Nothing much, Pey. Just waiting to die like everybody else." He tried to keep his mind off the fact that he just kissed Kurt whose boyfriend was just down the hall.

Peyton picked up a plate from the island and dropped it into the sink, turning back to face the other two boys and suck something off the pad of his thumb. That explains the chocolate Sebastian tasted straight out of Kurt's mouth.

He reverted his eyes to anywhere but Kurt or Peyton.

The blonde laughed, "Always the pessimist, huh, Sebastian?"

"You know how artists get. They think they have to be tortured souls in order to be good artists."

"I am a good artist," Sebastian said confidently, sitting up straighter and looking at Kurt.

Kurt hummed, raising his eyebrows and sharing a knowing look toward Peyton.

"Like you haven't had a few freak outs before," he challenged.

"I haven't."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Runway show. March 14th. If that's not a melt down—"

"Final Thesis for college."

"That article you wrote for Sophie about feathers in fashion."

"The first time your father actually went to your school's showcase."

Sebastian leaned back and conceded. "Okay."

"That's—wow. You two really have been friends for a long time," Peyton said, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Yeah, we have."

Peyton clapped his hands together, "Well, Kurt and I were just about to grab some coffee. Would you like to come?"

"Actually, sweetie," Kurt intervened, "After your sweet gift, I'm actually craving something salty. How about lunch?"

The chocolate. From Peyton. Yeah, no.

"I'd love to, but I'd rather not impose on your," he gestured to the two of them, "monogamous, romantic lunch."

Peyton just smiled, "Oh, c'mon Sebastian. It's fine. Is feel like I haven't really gotten to know you."

Sebastian just shook his head and stood, heading up to his studio, "I've got some work to do. A lot, actually. We can play buddy-buddy later." He retreated, ignoring Kurt's protests and shut himself in his studio, sighing and plopping into his chair.


End file.
